The barracks inside Magnulia’s towering walls bustled with the kind of feverish energy only found in the heart of an empire at war. The stone fortress, solid and unyielding, was a testament to the kingdom's enduring strength, standing as both a sanctuary and a crucible for the soldiers of Maelyss. Here, the recruits were forged into warriors, their raw potential hammered and honed into something unbreakable—or so the instructors hoped.

The courtyard was filled with the clamor of training. Recruits lined up in rows, standing stiff as boards as they awaited their turn to be scrutinized by the ever-watchful eyes of the Maelyss officers. They clutched the enlistment forms with a grip that belied their nerves, the crisp parchment already showing signs of wear from anxious hands. For many, this was their first step into a world far removed from the peaceful lives they’d known—a world where death loomed as a constant companion.

“State your name and knowledge of Haltuers,” a grizzled officer barked at the next recruit in line, his voice sharp enough to cut through the din of the barracks.

The recruit, a lad no older than seventeen, swallowed hard. “R-Raynor, sir. Haltuers are cursed beings, sir. They... they feed on our flesh and can only be killed with weapons charged with Euna energy.”

The officer’s steely gaze bore into Raynor, scrutinizing every inch of the trembling youth. “And why, Raynor, do we fight them?”

“To protect the kingdom, sir. To keep the darkness at bay.”

The officer grunted, seemingly satisfied, and moved down the line, his presence leaving a trail of nervous murmurs in his wake. The recruits who had passed the first test were shepherded into the training yard, where the true trials began. 

In one corner, a group of novices sparred with wooden swords, the heavy thud of wood on wood resonating through the yard. They were taught to swing with precision, not strength, to anticipate the enemy’s moves before they made them. One wrong step in a fight against a Haltuer could mean the difference between life and death—a lesson drilled into them with every bruising blow.

Nearby, another cluster of recruits practiced with the Maelyss dagger, the weapon as revered as it was feared. An instructor, a scarred veteran with a missing eye, stood before them, holding up the dagger for all to see. 

“Listen well,” the instructor began, his voice carrying over the clang of metal. “This is no ordinary blade. The Maelyss dagger is fused with Euna energy, allowing it to cut through the dark like nothing else can. But that’s not all.” He paused, letting the tension build. “This blade can teleport you short distances, a vital skill when surrounded by Haltuers.”

One of the recruits, a wiry girl with a fierce look in her eyes, raised her hand. “But how does it work, sir?”

The instructor’s scarred face broke into a grim smile. “Ah, the curious one. The blade’s magic isn’t magic at all, but technology. Euna energy is channeled through the dagger, dividing its elements. When the pocket on your wrist opens, it reconnects those elements, pulling you through space to wherever the dagger points. But remember, the radius is limited. Use it wisely, or you’ll find yourself in a worse spot than you started.”

The recruits nodded, their expressions a mixture of awe and trepidation as they each took turns practicing the maneuver. For some, the sensation of blinking out of existence only to reappear a few paces away was exhilarating; for others, it was disorienting, a reminder that the weapon they wielded was as dangerous as the enemies they faced.

As the day wore on, the courtyard grew louder with the sound of battle cries, the clashing of swords, and the muttered prayers of those seeking strength. Yet, amidst this cacophony, a quieter moment unfolded in the shadows of the barn.

Captain Zylar, dressed in simple, dirt-streaked clothes, stood amidst a pile of hay, his hands moving with the rhythm of one who had done this work many times before. There was a peace in this simplicity, a brief reprieve from the chaos of command. But peace, as always, was fleeting.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel announced the arrival of another. Zylar turned, his sharp eyes narrowing as he recognized the tall, broad-shouldered figure stepping into the barn.

“Commander Kaleb,” Zylar greeted, his tone respectful yet informal, as was the way between old comrades.

Kaleb inclined his head, stepping into the dim light of the barn. “Captain. I see you’ve taken to the more rustic duties of the barracks.”

Zylar chuckled softly, setting down the pitchfork. “A man needs a break from all the swordplay now and then. Besides, someone has to keep this place from falling apart.”

Kaleb’s gaze swept over the barn, taking in the neatly stacked hay, the worn tools, the lingering scent of earth and sweat. “True enough. But I didn’t come here to talk about barn work.”

“I figured as much,” Zylar said, wiping his hands on a rag. “What news from the front?”

Kaleb’s expression darkened slightly. “You’ve heard about the attack at Redhills?”

Zylar nodded, his demeanor shifting from relaxed to serious in an instant. “Some of the men have been talking. Limb Haltuers. Damn near impossible to kill, even with Euna-charged weapons. And when there’s a horde of them… Well, it’s no wonder so many fell.”

Kaleb exhaled slowly, the weight of command evident in his posture. “Few good men lost. We’ll be notifying their families soon—properly and with the honor they deserve.”

Zylar’s jaw tightened. “They died fighting for the kingdom. Their sacrifice won’t be forgotten. But what of those they left behind? The families… they’ll need more than just words.”

Kaleb nodded, his eyes distant as he considered the implications. “There’ll be pensions, of course, and their names will be honored at the memorial. It’s not enough, but it’s what we can do. There’s also talk of increasing support for the families—ensuring they’re cared for, that their children are looked after.”

Zylar placed a hand on Kaleb’s shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie. “You’re a good commander, Kaleb. You carry the burden of all of us, and I don’t envy you for it.”

Kaleb shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sad smile. “It’s not just the burden of command, Zylar. It’s the burden of Maelyss—of every man and woman who dons this armor. We protect the people of Futdeur, those who live outside these walls. Without the barracks in those regions, the Haltuers would overrun the land, and the kingdom would fall. We hold the line, not just for ourselves, but for every soul in this realm.”

Zylar’s eyes met Kaleb’s, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding between them deepened. They had both seen the horrors of war, had both lost friends and comrades to the darkness that threatened their world. And yet, they stood firm, ready to face whatever came next.

“You’re right,” Zylar finally said, his voice firm. “The barracks aren’t just outposts; they’re the shield that protects everything we hold dear. And I’ll do my part, Commander, wherever you need me.”

Kaleb took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “Zylar, I need you at Redhills. I know it’s dangerous—Limb Haltuers are no joke, and the horde isn’t likely to disperse on its own. But you’re one of the best we’ve got. Strong, capable, unafraid.”

Zylar considered Kaleb’s words, his mind racing through the implications. Redhills was a death trap, especially after the recent attack. But to refuse? That wasn’t in his nature. His loyalty to Maelyss, to Kaleb, ran deeper than any fear he might harbor.

“Commander,” Zylar began, his voice steady and resolute, “I won’t lie and say I’m not concerned. But I’ve never run from a fight, and I’m not about to start now. If Redhills needs me, I’ll go. And I’ll take those Haltuers down, one by one if I have to.”

Kaleb’s relief was palpable, though he kept his expression neutral. “You’ll have fifteen troops under your command. They’re green, but they’ll learn fast under your guidance. And Zylar… be careful. We need you back in one piece.”

Zylar smiled, a fierce determination in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’ve faced worse than a few cursed beasts. I’ll see you when I’m back.”

As they exited the barn, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the training yard. The recruits were still at it, their shouts echoing off the stone walls as they fought and bled and learned what it meant to be a soldier of Maelyss. 

Kaleb and Zylar stood side by side, watching the scene unfold. For a moment, neither spoke, content to simply be in the presence of a comrade, a friend.

“Zylar,” Kaleb said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, “thank you.”

Zylar turned to him, his expression serious. “For what ?”

“For being the kind of man who never hesitates to do what’s right. No matter the cost.”

Zylar’s smile was thin, almost sad. “It’s not always about doing what’s right, Commander. Sometimes, it’s just about doing what needs to be done.”

Kaleb nodded, understanding all too well. “Good luck, Zylar. And may Paladin guide your blade.”